On the day I go I will sleep a dreamless sleep and rise at 4 a.m.
I will eat a few bites of food,
sip a few sips of water
and I will climb again a stool and a chair
to a place where I can place my heart beat against another's.
And breathe.
I will ride the elevator down to the street and out into the world.
And I will breathe the cool air of the morning.
I will go with the one or two people who have loved me longer and deeper than any other and who I have loved.
And they will hold me and speak to me as they have done for as long as I can remember.
And I will look at them and around the room once more --
alert and graceful and grateful and proud.
And they will hold me again, and I will go